Vandalizing UNIT Property
by Weirdo in the Attic
Summary: Otherwise known as 'Why the Doctor doesn't drink alcohol'. The Doctor gets extremely drunk, and passes out. Who could possibly resist a bit of graffiti? Not a certain Sergeant and Captain, obviously.


The first thing that the Doctor was aware of was the TARDIS. The therapeutic hum of her thoughts wormed its way into his brain, and he groaned, raising his head slightly.

The next thing he was aware of was how much his head hurt, and that he was lying on one of the bunks in the UNIT soldiers' barracks.

He felt bloody awful. He roughly remembered the description of the sensation induced by a Pan-Galactic Gargle-Blaster, and thought this felt rather like it. In other words; a hangover.

Grateful for the dim light in the barracks, he squinted at the small amount of possessions by the bunk, consisting of a corned beef sandwich, and a partly-eaten apple. He hoisted himself out of the rather uncomfortable bed, and stumbled towards the exit.

On his way out, he bumped into Sergeant Benton, who was looking annoyingly cheery for eight in the morning.

'Ah, hello Sergeant. Sorry for sleeping in your bunk. I'm afraid I can't recall how I ended up there.'

'S'alright, Doc. Me and the new Captain I introduced you to- Mike Yates- we put you there. Didn't seem right to put you in the lab, and nobody seems to know where you keep the key to the TARDIS.' The Doctor noticed that the soldier was for some reason focusing on a distant point somewhere above his head. What he didn't know was that this was a desperate attempt on Benton's part to stop himself from collapsing with laughter.

'Ah. Did I have a lot to drink?'

'Not really, Doctor. You only had one or two pints, and then you sort of… slumped over and fell asleep. Don't worry, you didn't do anything you might regret later.'

'Hmm. Interesting. I suppose my tolerance must have gone down. It has been a while since I've had such a high concentration of alcohol…'

'We guessed. You didn't even wake up when Mi…' Benton's eyes widened, and he tried quickly to cover his mistake. '…like I said, you didn't wake up at all. I'm sorry Doc, but I'm meant to be going on patrol in a few minutes. Will you get to the lab alright?'

'I'm sure I can. Thank you, Sergeant.' The Doctor strode off in the direction of the main building. Benton went in the other direction, finally giving in to helpless laughter.

[DW]

The Doctor walked into the lab, where his assistant Dr Liz Shaw was already conducting an experiment. As she looked up her eyes widened slightly, but she managed to keep her face straight.

'Morning, Doctor.'

'Hello Liz. You're in early.'

'Yes. I had to cut this experiment short yesterday, so I'm going to do it again, less rushed.' She paused. 'I take it you accepted Benton's invitation to the Pig and Whistle?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact. Rather enjoyed myself, I think.'

'Oh. I hope Benton and Yates didn't do anything embarrassing to you while you were unconscious.'

'Now Liz, I really don't… hang on. How did you know I passed out?'

'I'll find you a mirror,' Liz sighed. _Men, _she thought.

[DW]

About twenty seconds later, the Doctor discovered the clown makeup (with complimentary rainbow-coloured dyed hair to match). He also had the word 'THIS WAY UP' written on his forehead in what looked like tomato ketchup.

On the other side of the building, Brigadier Lethsbridge-Stewart heard a strange shriek echo through the corridors, accompanied by the same voice yelling incoherently about what he would do to those damn soldiers when he got his hands on them.

He shrugged, and continued working.

Meanwhile, outside the Doctor's lab, Benton and Yates listened solemnly to the curses and threats from inside.

'He's going to kill us, isn't he?' Yates said casually.

'Yup.'

'He's going to rip out our hearts, and put them on display.'

'Almost certainly, sir.' They both waited a moment.

'Benton. Camera, please.'

**This was inspired by an episode of a sitcom which I adore, where Roy goes to work after a night out, oblivious to the fact that he's wearing lipstick. In case you don't know, drinking a Pan-Galactic Gargle-Blaster is similar to having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick. Thank you, Douglas Adams.**


End file.
